


Read the Recipe

by LadyLondonderry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Baker Harry, M/M, Personal Chef, Rich Louis Tomlinson, face to face at the kitchen table
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:14:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25390705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLondonderry/pseuds/LadyLondonderry
Summary: Louis Tomlinson does not have to be good at baking. He is rich, and haspeoplefor that.Or, to put it more specifically, he has a single person for that. A person named Harry Styles, who comes highly recommended.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 34
Kudos: 308
Collections: Prompt 3.4: Sin





	Read the Recipe

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a Wordplay prompt challenge for the prompt "sin". To read the amazing fics that were written by the others on this prompt, [click here](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/sin), and to see all fics written as part of the challenge (including years 1-3), [click here](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/wordplay_fic_challenge/works). You can also find the masterpost for this year’s challenge [here](https://wordplayfics.tumblr.com/post/622306139518926848/wordplay-2020-every-week-for-five-weeks-a-prompt).
> 
> This turned into a love letter to Marks and Sparks on accident. I can't explain it. It's not even my favorite store?

Louis Tomlinson does not have to be good at baking. He is rich, and has  _ people _ for that.

Or, to put it more specifically, he has a single person for that. A person named Harry Styles, who came highly recommended and who has saved Louis’ ass more than a few times. 

Louis just doesn’t always have the time to get things done, is the thing. His schedule takes him all over the world at the most inconvenient times and sometimes his grandmother’s birthday party is the night he gets home from Paris, or his sisters’ graduation happens an hour before he has to be on the southern end of the country. Or he just doesn’t want to spend the week eating frozen meals.

Harry Styles, however, seems to always be free at the right times and makes the most delicious desserts Louis has ever tasted. His macarons are delicious, his strawberry cake is delicious, his eclairs are…  _ delicious. _

(Louis Tomlinson knows absolutely nothing about baking and that includes all bakery lingo. One time he told Harry that his trifle was  _ moist _ and this was apparently the wrong term to use, so Louis simply does not try anymore, for fear of failure and seeing that very  _ upset _ look on Harry’s face again). 

Today, Louis is just getting home from a week in L.A., and the time difference, he knows from experience, is about to be brutal. Unfortunately, he also knows he’s only going to have time for a nap before Lottie’s birthday, when he’ll be expected to be very  _ on, _ and  _ awake, _ and ready to interact with the whole family. 

He’s also in charge of the cake.

Thankfully, Harry Styles has a code to his house (as he often meal preps for Louis, since if Louis was left to his own devices he would have a can of baked beans for about every meal), so Louis doesn’t have to worry about timing much. Harry should be there already, in fact, and hopefully the house will smell like chocolate cake by the time Louis’ walking in the door. 

(Sometimes Louis feels like his relationship with his professional personal chef is a little  _ too _ personal, because it’s very hard not to greet someone who is already in your house with a pet name and a hug — not that Louis has done the second one. But he’s come close a few times). 

Stepping out of his car and grabbing his bags from the boot, Louis notes Harry’s car parked outside. It’s an old red hatchback, covered in dents and scrapes and with a stuffed giraffe in the back window. 

He unlocks his door and pushes it open, dragging his bags over the entrance and shoving them to the side among his pile of dirty cleats and converse. 

He stands and sniffs.

The house does not smell like chocolate cake.

The house smells like  _ something, _ like  _ baking, _ even, but also a bit like… burning. 

Then, startling him, there’s a  _ cacophony  _ of  _ clattering _ and Louis hurries in toward the kitchen to make sure Harry hasn’t gotten buried under pots and pans or something. 

He stops just short of the kitchen, standing in the dining room at the edge of the door as he can see Harry  _ madly pacing _ around the length of his kitchen island. 

_ “Shit,” _ Harry says to himself. He’s mumbling, but his deep voice carries.  _ “Shit, shit, shit,  _ he’s going to be home any  _ minute _ and this will—”

He stops, turns and looks at all the ingredients laid out on the island, and then gasps, running for the oven. When he opens it, smoke billows out and suddenly Louis realises what that smell is. It’s chocolate, but it’s also distinctly  _ burned _ chocolate.

_ “No,” _ Harry moans, pulling two pathetically dark cakes from the oven. “No, I  _ can’t  _ have done this, oh my  _ god _ I’m going to get  _ fired—” _

He puts the cakes on the counter just as the smoke alarm starts going off, and Harry runs to grab a baking tray to waft below the alarm until it quiets again. When it finally does, he puts the tray down on the island and then lays his head in his arms next to it and lets out a deep, heartfelt groan. 

Louis… does not know what to do. 

Harry has never been anything but professional. He’s great at his job, always on time and always very neat and tidy, cleaning up after himself to the point where Louis only knows that he’s been there by the cakes safe on the countertop. When they make smalltalk it’s pleasant, polite. Harry’s eyes light up at the mention of Louis’ littlest siblings, and he’ll chatter for hours about his favourite recipes.

Louis’ only ever seen professional, upbeat, happy Harry. 

He wonders if he needs to pick up a cake from M&S. 

In the end, Louis doesn’t actually need to decide anything at all, because what gives him away is the sound of the alarm going off on his phone, the one signalling that he will have to leave again in exactly three hours (the one that he sets to tell himself to stop scrolling Twitter and do what needs to be done, which in this case is a nap). 

Harry’s head shoots up and his eyes are wide, panicked. “Louis!” He says, straightening up. There’s flour in his hair. 

“Hello,” Louis says, trying to sound nice and cordial and not like he’s just seen Harry having a breakdown. 

“Oh no,” says Harry, sagging. “How long have you been here?”

“Just a minute or two,” Louis says, stepping forward into the kitchen. Upon a closer look, the cakes really are quite… black. 

“That’s about as long as you would need,” Harry moans. “I’m so sorry, Louis, I’ve  _ ruined _ your sister’s birthday and probably ruined your bakeware on top of it all and now you probably won’t even want me back anymore— I’ll reimburse you for the burned tins, of course—”

Louis puts up his hands. “Hold on,” he says. “You haven’t ruined my sister’s birthday. If her birthday revolves around having a perfect cake then I don’t think we’ve taught her well enough anyway.”

Harry blinks at him with big, miserable doe eyes.

“And is it… did you just burn the cake? Is that all?”

Harry looks away. “Uhm,” he says. 

Louis looks in the direction of Harry’s gaze and sees that in the kitchen bin seems to be… more cake.

“You burned… four cakes?”

Harry’s mouth droops. “Six,” he says, and then promptly lays his head back in his hands. “They were supposed to be  _ iced  _ by now,” he wails. “Two perfect chocolate sin birthday cakes! That’s all I needed to make! I don’t know  _ what _ keeps going wrong! I’ve followed the recipe to the  _ letter!” _

Once, before Louis was famous and therefore rich enough to be able to afford a personal chef like Harry, he managed to set the microwave for twenty minutes instead of two and caught the ramen he was trying to make on fire. 

Louis had laughed it off, because that was fucking hilarious, and then ordered takeaway. 

Harry cares more about these chocolate cakes than Louis ever has about any food he’s made, and Louis has no idea how to make him feel better.

“Was it a new recipe?” he hazards. 

Harry picks up his head again and shakes it. “I’ve made it every year,” he says. “Here, it’s one of my best.” He slides his binder across the island to Louis (it’s clearly homemade, with each recipe printed and put in a laminated pocket). 

Louis looks at the recipe.

He reads the ingredients. 

He looks at the ingredients on the counter, as if he would somehow be able to catch something  _ professional chef Harry Styles _ has missed.

(A ridiculous thought).

But then he reads the list of ingredients again and his eyes widen because— 

Oh no.

“Harry,” Louis says slowly. “I know what went wrong.”

Harry looks worriedly at him. “You do?” he asks.

“Yes,” says Louis. “And I would actually rather not tell you.”

“You would—” Harry looks  _ very  _ worried. “But— how will I know how to make it next time?”

“Um,” says Louis. “Okay. But. You can’t judge me.”

Harry gives him a  _ look. _ “I… won’t judge you,” he says, sounding very unsure.

Louis walks over to the refrigerator and shuffles through everything, pulling a carton of milk from the very back. “This is your milk,” he says. 

Eyebrows furrowed, Harry looks at the milk in Louis’ hands and at the milk on the countertop.

“That is… not milk,” Louis says, pointing to the milk Harry used. “My personal trainer, Niall, always drinks my milk without asking first and I wanted to break him of that habit, and I knew you had bought that specifically for Lottie’s birthday, so I…  _ filledthatcartonwithmayonaiseandwater.” _

Harry’s eyes are comically wide. He looks like he might vomit. 

“I’m sorry!” Louis groans. “I was going to switch them back before I left and I completely forgot!”

“I…” Harry chokes out. “I have been making…. Mayo cakes?”

“...Yes.”

“Oh my god,” says Harry. “I could have  _ killed someone.” _

“I am  _ sure _ no one would die from eating a mayo cake,” Louis is quick to point out.

Harry locks (large, worried) eyes with him. “So you’re not… going to fire me, right?”

“I wouldn’t have fired you even if it  _ was  _ your fault,” Louis says, aghast. “You make the best desserts I’ve ever tasted and your homemade pesto is heavenly.”

Harry looks like Louis has breathed fresh life into him. Then his face falls again. Then he simply looks… concerned. 

“What kind of a face journey was that?” Louis asks.

Harry sucks in his lower lip. “I got that pesto recipe from my friend Liam,” he says. “He’s a professional chef too. You could hire Liam.”

“I don’t want to hire Liam,” Louis says, confused. “I’ve got you.”

Harry nods, looking down at his hands. 

“Are you… trying to quit?” Louis hazards, feeling more confused as the conversation goes on.

“No!” Harry says, vehemently. And then, less sure, “I mean…. No. I’m not.”

“I am getting terrible mixed messages here,” Louis points out.

Harry sighs and then flops his head into his hands once again. “I just spent the last few hours convinced I was getting fired,” he mumbles. “And then… I thought  _ thatmeantIcouldaskyouout.” _

_ “Oh!” _ says Louis.

Harry  _ covers _ his head with his hands, like he’s practicing a fire drill. “Are you going to fire me… now?” he asks, not looking up.

“In a good way or a bad way?” Louis asks.

“...Either?”

Louis feels… sad that he is about to lose his personal chef. “I’ll need Liam’s number,” he says. “And I’m about to be very disappointed if he doesn’t make pies the same way you do. But since this is the way this day seems to be going, would you like to accompany me to my sister’s birthday party?”

Harry peeks one eye up at him. “I don’t have a cake,” he says.

“We’d pick one up at M&S,” Louis says. “And then maybe grab dinner first. That way you technically wouldn’t meet my family until the  _ second _ date.”

Harry stands up. He looks a mess. “Oh no,” he says. “I’ve coerced you into this.”

Louis snorts. “You coerced yourself into getting fired,” he says. “I’ve wanted to ask you out for months.”

“Oh,” says Harry, and he looks happier.

“But we’re going to have to stop and get coffee,” Louis says. “Because I am the definition of jetlagged and am about to miss my three hour nap, so I can’t promise the best first date in the world.”

“That’s okay,” Harry says, looking positively gleeful. “I’ll get you however many shots you need!”

“You’re unemployed,” Louis points out, and he reaches out and grabs Harry’s hand from the other side of the island. “So I’ll be treating you tonight. But don’t worry, you can make it up to me some other time.”

— 

(Louis falls asleep with his head on Harry’s shoulder while drinking cold brew outside of Starbucks).

(Louis falls asleep again with Harry’s hand in his at Lottie’s birthday party). 

(Louis is up all night texting Harry because if his sleep schedule is going to be messed up, his boyfriend’s might as well be too). 

**Author's Note:**

> Come visit me at [Londonfoginacup](https://londonfoginacup.tumblr.com/) on tumblr! Fic post [here](https://londonfoginacup.tumblr.com/post/624176463224225792/read-the-recipe-ladylondonderry).


End file.
